


Catching A Breeze

by alabaster_wings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And More Angst, Angst, Don't Judge Me, Happy Ending, M/M, More angst, Whoop Whoop, america au because im in america oops, aw, closed off louis, feels yay, fluffy of course, harry's a little shit and a cupcake, i can't spell for shit sorry, orange juice is apparently good for your pores, people do things, this is the bane of my existance now, zayn's in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabaster_wings/pseuds/alabaster_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis never wanted to be tied down. Harry always hoped that he'd be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catching A Breeze

The smell of baking bread and sugary sweet frosting meets Louis' nose as he steps into the little hole-in-the-wall shop. He's running late, but he'll be damned if he doesn't get Zayn's stupid scone.

So he steps up to the counter, pulls out an earbud, and addresses the old lady at the register, "Two scones..." he shouldn't, "and a slice of that red velvet cake, please." But he does. Louis knows that his skinny jeans are slightly tighter than they were a month ago when he first bought them, but he also knows that red velvet has always been his weakness.

And Louis never was very strong. 

The old lady beams, keying in the order and saying in the most chipper voice possible, "That'll be $5.25, young man."

Louis hands over six dollars and grins his charming grin because he's already late so who cares? "Keep the change." He winks, because cute old ladies remind him of his gran on the occasions she wasn't in prison.

Stepping over to wait for his order, Louis purses his lips and tries to figure out why in the  _hell_  Zayn demanded he come  _here_ to get the scones. And then "order up!" is being called in an absolutely  _ridiculously_ deep voice, making Louis turn around and--

\--and abruptly drop his jaw to the floor.

Harry is staring back at him with a similar expression, little white bag still clutched in his hand. "Louis," he breathes, and the sound is like coming home.

Louis never did like the flutter in his chest, and he doesn't like it now. "I'm gonna kill 'im."

Harry at least as the decency to look abashed, "I talked him into it."

They're on the same page, the same wavelength, and it grates on Louis' nerves. He snatches his bag of scones and cake, shaking his head at what he  _knows_ is coming, "I'll bet you did. I'm leaving now. Goodbye, Harry." The word sits heavy and odd on Louis' tongue, but if he stops for a minute (which he won't) then he'll be forced to admit to himself that what's so odd about it is how  _good_ it feels (which he won't).

Harry sighs before Louis can turn away, his eyes taking on that pathetic puppy-dog look that always did make Louis melt, "Louis, it's been seven months."

"Eight," Louis corrects, just like he knows Harry wants him to. It can't be helped that he knows with sharp clarity the day he left Harry, the day things became Too Much. 

It's not as if he can forget his own birthday anyway.

"Don't be a fatalist, Louis," Harry says softly, just like he did eight months ago. Just like he does every night when Louis closes his eyes.

"Don't be a delousionalist, Harry," Louis replies, though his voice is gentler than it was the first time he uttered those words. A lot of things are true about Louis, and one of those things has always been that he is never strong but Harry in particular has always been his weakness.

And Harry grins, though Louis isn't blind enough to miss the sheen coating those emerald eyes, "You missed me."

But as weak as Harry makes him, Louis is still adamant about what he wants and what he thinks he needs, "I'm leaving. For real this time."

"Zayn invited me over for dinner," Harry says quietly, and Louis  _knows_ it's just to keep him there.

He also knows that he'll stay if Harry continues to look at him like that, so he says the one thing he know that will make Harry look away, "I have a date."

And it works. And Louis hurts inside. And he wonders why he tries so hard to kill himself.

"Goodbye, Harry," he says softly, turns on his heel, and doesn't allow himself a backward glance.

Louis will always be a fatalist. Harry will always be a delousionalist. Louis knows this. And it still doesn't make walking away any easier. It didn't eight months ago and it doesn't now. But Louis will still walk away, if only because Harry makes him weak.

And Louis has never been strong.

 

 

 

 

 

Zayn is sitting in their usual spot in the park, a sketchbook in his lap and a cup of coffee in his hand. He beams at Louis until he notices The Look, "Lou ~~\--~~ "

"Don't you dare start," Louis sighs and throws the bag of scones at him, no longer interested in cake. He drops to the ground and leans back against the tree trunk, curls his legs up against his chest, "I'm upset with you."

"Louis," Zayn tries again, setting his drink down to sketch the sun hovering just over the trees, charcoal smudging his cheekbone and hands, "I won't let you break his heart like this. Not whenever you're breaking your own as well."

Louis closes his eyes and pretends he can blow away with the breeze scattering his fringe against his forehead, "The only thing that's breaking is going to be your stupidly angular face when I slam it into the ground."

Zayn drops his sketchbook and turns to face Louis, wrapping his hands around Louis' dainty ankles, "You can be in a relationship without unhinging the universe."

"You don't actually know that," Louis protests weakly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. There are lots of things he doesn't like to think about, but Harry tops the list. If not because of his big doe eyes or his inward pointing toes, then for his dangerously sweet kisses and heartstoppingly sincere words. There are lots of things Louis doesn't like to think about, but being in love tops the list.

"Discovering yourself doesn't have to be a full time job, Lou," Zayn hums, returning to his sketching because he knows Louis well enough to know that these things are best discussed in the fading sun in whispered words and non-glances.

Louis frowns and presses his cheek against his knees, "Maybe not, but loving someone  _is_ a full time job." And maybe that isn't why Louis opposes the idea of it, but it's certainly the easiest and shortest reason to give Zayn. Because going into detail about how he can't afford to give himself away like that, to open up his chest and lay himself bare, isn't something he can do.

Zayn lets it go if only because it will most definitely come up later, "Right, well, we still have to pick up something to serve for dinner. Harry's picky about his food."

That's about when Louis remembers he told Harry that he has a date tonight. He doesn't. "Zayn, I'm supposed to have a date."

"You had a cancellation. Come on, Lou." Zayn's always been that one person Louis allows himself to need, if only because Zayn needed him first and always needs him more. That's one of the reasons they work; Zayn wants to the point of making Louis think that he can want too.

So Louis lets himself be pulled to his feet, lets himself be okay with this for one night, "That doesn't mean I'm okay with this."

But he's never been strong, so he sort of is okay with it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Niall is the first person to arrive.

Louis shoots Zayn a glance as the Irish lad goes to fetch a beer from the kitchen, "You invited everyone, didn't you?"

Liam's arrival is answer enough.

He hugs Louis tight around the neck, like the last thing Louis said to him wasn't exceedingly douchey, and whispers, "Good to see you, Lou."

And maybe Liam can be trusted to be in Louis' heart too, because anyone who can handle Louis when he's angry can handle Louis all the time.

"You too," Louis replies, because it most definitely  _is_ good to see Liam. The five of them were so close before Harry and Louis...well, before Louis...well, before Harry...well, before eight months ago.

It's amazing how much can change in less than a year. Amazing and devastating.

The four of them settle around the living room like nothing ever changed, Niall and Zayn taking up the recliner and Liam letting Louis lay on him. Louis knows that the three of them still hang out, that just because Louis tore himself out of the picture doesn't mean that everyone else did too, but he's still surprised how easy it is for all of them to fall right back into place.

That is, until a knock at the door echos around the flat.

Louis knows that it's his job to get it, since Zayn's occupied beating Niall at Mario Cart and Liam's more engrossed in the game than either of the two playing, but he still takes his time climbing to his feet and shuffling down the hall. There are many things Louis is not, and courageous is one of them. 

Harry smells like cedar and frosting, and he's dressed in skinny jeans and a ratty band t-shirt that Louis' pretty sure they got a year ago at some music festival. He grins that wobbly grin that doesn't quite reveal his dimples, hands shoved deep into his pockets, "Hi, Louis."

Louis contemplates slamming the door in his face. He sighs and steps back instead, eyes on his bare toes, "Hi, Harry."

He isn't sure that it's a good thing or a bad thing that they aren't touching, but he certainly can't bear to find out. Harry follows him down the hall, kicking off his shoes and stumbling a little because he's Harry. "Lou," he says softly before they reach the living room, reaching out as if he wants to touch Louis but doesn't know if he's allowed.

Louis closes his eyes tight and shakes his head only once, whispering so he knows his voice won't crack, "Not now, Harry."  
  
"When?" Harry demands, though his shoulders are slumped in defeat because he'll do anything Louis asks him to. Even staying out of Louis' life. Even walking away because Louis isn't strong enough to. Even saying goodbye when he doesn't mean it.

Louis doesn't have an answer, but he rarely ever does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"When" turns out to be three in the morning.

Zayn was the first to fall asleep, halfway through Titanic, with Niall soon after him. Liam made it to the first part of the boat sinking, but then he succumbed to sleep as well. Those three never could get to Jack floating to the depths of the ocean. 

Louis isn't quite sure how he manages to make it to the end. Maybe because the last time they watched this, he was curled up in Harry's lap and fell asleep to Harry whispering the entire movie in his ear.

Or maybe, more accurately, this time he's conflicted between  _wanting_ that and  _not having_ that.

Either way, he picks up the popcorn bowl and heads for the kitchen as the credits roll, swaying his hips and humming My Heart Will Go On under his breath.

Harry takes a minute, but he eventually turns up, leaning against the island and crossing his arms over his chest, "Louis."

"Yes, Harry?" Louis sighs, turning to face him because he knows there's no more avoiding it. Not with Harry right here and the universe against Louis it seems. Louis knows several things to be absolute facts, and one of those facts has always been and will always be that the universe does not favor him. Because if the universe  _did_ favor him, then he wouldn't be in this whole mess to begin with.

"It's been eight months since I've touched you." Louis isn't sure what kind of opening that is, but he knows it's certainly one that's going to make him wake up with a bad taste in his mouth and regret heavy in his throat. 

He nods for lack of anything better to do, a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "You come to that conclusion all by yourself?"

Harry frowns down at him, and he at least has the nerve to sound hurt so Louis will feel  _bad_ , "Just like I came to the conclusion all by myself that you weren't coming back, yeah."

"Harry," and Louis has never been strong, but Harry makes him particularly weak. His shoulders sag as he realizes just what he's done. He has broken this beautiful boy in front of him, and there's really no excuse at all for it. "I'm sorry," he breathes, a little desperately. And that simple admission, those two words he wasn't supposed to ever say, is now out in the open and staring both of them in the face.

Harry may not know what it means, but Louis does. 

So he runs.

And, yeah, it's not a big flat and there isn't a lock on his bedroom door, but having the physical barrier between the two of them helps. It helps him remember that there are  _reasons_ he left. He can't handle the thought of throwing away all of his hard work for something trivial like wide green eyes and sweetly ridiculous words. He can't throw away his entire  _life_ for three little words whispered in the dead of night for only the moon and Louis' heart as witness.

He  _can't_.

But it still takes every ounce of self restraint Louis has when the thump of Harry's body against the door is heard, followed by the very faintly whispered plea of, "Louis." And, really, there are plenty of reasons Louis could give himself that would be good enough to get him to open the door and let Harry in. But those are all also reasons that he  _shouldn't_ , too, and it's just so painfully  _hard_ to be Louis.

But, he reasons, it's probably harder to be Harry.

So Louis thumps against the door too, sliding to the floor and pressing his forehead to his knees, "Fuck." And, yeah, he could just screw it all and end this nonsense, but Louis  _knows_ that it'll just bring him right back to square one. Right back to being left alone, a few pieces shorter than he was before.

Louis has never been strong because he has never been whole.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's half four in the morning when Louis finally braves leaving his room.

Harry is curled in on himself on the floor, looking so utterly _small_ for someone who is so...not small, really. It makes Louis' heart clamour around quite painfully in his chest, that sight, and he closes his door softly and sinks back against it. His eyes graze over the slow curve of Harry's neck, the sloping dips in his collarbones, the juts of his shoulders through the thin t-shirt. 

He's beautiful, demandingly so. Louis finds it laughable to think that _anyone_ could look at Harry and think him anything less than heart-wrenchingly breathtaking. Of course, his throat is too parched at the moment for his breathing to even feel like something normal. The oxygen feels foreign in his too-tight chest. "Harry," he whispers, because it's the dead of night and no one will know but the carpet just how desperate Louis allows himself to sound.

When Harry stirs, Louis doesn't dare move. Anything he could do would be in vain anyway, since he's already been spotted. Harry's voice is in that lovely state of being muddled and slower than usual, rough at the edges but all softness underneath, "Lou?"

Oh, how Louis misses waking up to that voice.

_No._

Louis swallows through the pain working down his windpipe, helpless in its grip, "Um, yeah. I. You shouldn't be sleeping on the floor. With. Um. Your back and all." And, no, Louis  _doesn't_ want to discuss how haltingly he's speaking, nor does he want to ponder why his thoughts have scattered so suddenly and sharply, leaving him dizzy and breathless and just a little bit more than on edge.

"Nowhere else," Harry says softly, and his eyes are asking what his mouth knows he shouldn't. Asking  _where_ precisely Louis had in mind for Harry to sleep other than the floor since Liam is on the couch, and Niall and Zayn have no doubt taken up Zayn's bed. Just like old times.

Only, this time, Louis feels slightly more than desperate at the thought of having Harry in his bed. It shouldn't be weird; they shared a bed and a room and a  _life_  for nearly three years. Even before they'd become...more, Harry had always been the other half of Louis and vice versa.

And Louis honestly isn't sure if he's more upset with himself for _not having_ that anymore or for  _wanting_ it back. 

But, no matter his reasons, his irritation at himself leads to the soft admission, "We're adults, or at least we pretend. We can share a bed, can't we?"

Louis has never been strong, especially when it comes to rules he sets for himself.

"Why?" It's a valid question, really, since Louis  _locked himself away_ when faced with Harry hardly two hours before. It's validity, however, doesn't make the answer any easier or less complicated.

"Because you're _hogging_ all the body heat," is the only thing Louis can think to say, the only answer his stalled brain can come up with that will both satisfy Harry's question and bring a slight smile to his face.

It works, too, and Harry uncurls his legs just enough for Louis to remember how  _endless_ they are, rolling his shoulders and wincing, "Shit, m'back  _is_ shit."

"Posture," Louis says softly, and, really, he  _shouldn't_. But he just can't  _help_ it, when it's as easy as breathing to banter quietly with Harry, for them to take jabs at one another and be relaxed and not have  _secrets_.

But, of course, Harry's brow wrinkles after a moment and he heaves another soft sigh, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't...I didn't  _think_ ~~\--~~ "

Louis only shakes his head, too tired and aching to keep his mouth shut like he should, "'s alright, Harry. It's not your fault, yeah?" And the look Harry gives him is enough, because it's one of those looks he used to get when he'd say something sweet or do something Harry deemed "cute" or even right before Harry said that he  _loved_ Louis.

But it hurts too much, so Louis looks away.

Louis has never been strong, but looks like those make him devastatingly weak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Running is the dumbest thing ever to exist, Louis realizes a few mornings later as he's doubled over on the sidewalk. Sweat is pooling in weird places all over his body, his lungs are screaming in what could possibly be French, and the old women jogging across the street are staring at him. 

All in all, it's possibly the best day he's had all week.

Louis straightens once his chest doesn't feel like there's a piano crushing it, pushing back his limp fringe and answering his phone, "Yes, Zayn?" No one else calls him, mostly because no one else has his number.

"Um, it's not Zayn." And it isn't Zayn. It's Harry.

Louis is too exhausted and shaky to react like he should, "Huh."

Harry notices, and his voice somehow goes even more timid, "Uh, hi?"

"Hi. I just went running. I might throw up now," Louis replies cheerfully as he makes the slow ascent to his second floor apartment. He knew running was an awful idea, but there's just all this  _something_ in his chest and the burning that's replaced said  _something_ is oddly refreshing. Louis blames it on lack of oxygen.

"So...now would be a bad time to ask you to dinner?" And that  _something_ is back in Louis' chest at how Harry can get bold sometimes, making Louis have to stop and squint his eyes at the stairwell as he processes the words.

Dinner.

Harry.

"No." Louis furrows his eyebrows as he tries to figure out which part of the question he's trying to answer, "I mean no to the bad time thing, not to the dinner thing. Though that'll probably be a no too if you give me enough time to get oxygen to my brain." That sounds about right, since Louis really always has had a problem making rash decisions on impulse.

At least, that's the excuse he's giving himself.

Harry is grinning with both dimples, Louis can hear it, "I'm taking that as a yes. I'll pick you up at six."

"It's not a date," Louis says to the dial tone, sighing and scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "It's  _not_ a date," he tells the wood of the door as he turns his key. "It's not a  _date_ ," he tells the refrigerator. "It _isn't_ a _date_ ," he tells the empty kitchen.

"It's a date," he sighs at his reflection in the hall mirror, feeling probably more conflicted than strictly necessary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is hiding in the bathroom when Zayn answers the door, cowering against the sink and forcing himself to take deep breaths.

It's only  _Harry_.

Of course, the fact that it is indeed  _Harry_  is the reason that Louis is desperately touching his fringe and trying not to hyperventilate and contemplating possibly faking the excuse that he's slipped and fallen into the toilet to get him out of dinner. But, sadly enough, he doesn't have time to fully develop the plan before there's a soft knock on the door and the soft words that follow, "Lou? It's Harry."

As if it could ever be anyone else.

Louis knocks the bottle of mouthwash into the toilet when he jerks, his elbow knocking against the countertop in the process. "Fuck," he yelps, scrambling to answer the door and not look totally manic. He isn't entirely sure how well he pulls that off, feeling his eyes widen and trying to force a grin on his face that's quite possibly too big for his face.

Harry either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he breaks out into his usual beaming smile, both dimples on full display and eyes bright with promise, "Did you just knock something into the loo?"

"What? No. What? No. Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Louis babbles, feeling just a tinge panicky. He doesn't remember being around Harry being so...stressful. That probably has more to do with the _something_ that's returned to seeping through his ribs than it does Harry himself.

"Right, well. Would you like to go to dinner, or would you rather stay in the bathroom all evening? I mean, I'm sure I can be just as charming here, but I was planning to seduce you with Italian food and ~~\--~~ "

Louis shoulders past him, fighting a grin the whole time, "Oh, shut up, you twat. We're leaving now, yes?"

Harry's grin turns soft, unbearable to look at really, "Only if you're  _certain_ you wouldn't rather stay in the loo."

"No, you're right. Let's stay here. You can brush your teeth and charm me through toothpaste suds. Brilliant," Louis banters back, feeling like he's falling into place. Like maybe, just maybe, this is where he's supposed to  _fit_. Right here in all the spaces of Harry, and maybe, just maybe, Harry's supposed to fit in all the spaces of Louis.

But he shakes the thought off as quickly as it came.

It does him no good to let his thoughts wander like that, to let himself believe that it could  _work_. It's ridiculous, like acid rain or global warming or penguins being able to fly. He  _knows_ this, yet it's still a struggle for him to really believe it. A struggle because he's not strong, never really has been.

And while Louis is not very strong, he is not willing to break himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry, Louis decides on his fourth glass of wine, is  _dangerous_.

Not because of his too-soft smiles and too-sweet words, but because he's so full of  _love_. He just gives it to  _everyone_ ~~\--~~ the waiter, old ladies on the street, clerks at Tesco, the mailman, Louis, homeless people, strangers, people he doesn't even  _know_. Everyone. Harry Styles has enough love for everyone, enough love for even Louis, and that is  _dangerous_.

So dangerous, in fact, that Louis can feel it in the pounding of his heart and the fluttering of his eyelashes against his cheeks. 

"Why'd you come back?" He's finally intoxicated enough to ask this question, finally hazy enough for the edges to soften and the jaggedness to dull. Louis doesn't often let himself get like this, if for no other reason than he feels he doesn't need to keep his guard up when he's like this. And he should know better, really, that he certainly can't let his guard down around _Harry_.

But, of course, that's one of the reasons that he  _does_.

Harry, on the other hand, turns quiet and intense once he's had a bit to drink, and he stares down at his plate as he murmurs, "Because I figured it would hurt less to at least be 'round you than just drive m'self mad thinking I see you in places you aren't. I'm not strong enough to stay away, Lou. Don't think I ever was, t'be honest with you."

Louis frowns, furrowing his eyebrows because he can relate, more than Harry's allowed to know, "I missed you."

Well. If it comes down to it, he can always blame the wine. Louis always did reveal a bit too much once he'd had a few glasses. Harry knows this. And Louis can't bear to hold it against him.

"Thank  _God_ for that," Harry blurts, looking a bit startled at himself. His cheeks dip into pink territory, shoulders slumping as if he expects a reprimand to come.

And, well, nine months ago, Louis _would have_ reprimanded him, but now all he can do is sigh helplessly, feeling a bit like he's falling from a ten story building, "If I were to tell you that I never wanted you to leave in the first place, would that make things better or worse?"

"Worse, probably," Harry murmurs, tone unrepentant but eyes already seeking forgiveness. He's always contradicting himself, though there are a few things he seems to be completely certain about.

Unfortunately, Louis happens to be one of those things.

Fortunately, Louis happens to be one of those things.

Frowning at himself for catching the contradiction contagion, Louis nods carefully and sips at his wine, ignoring the pasta in front of him, "Figured. Well. I suppose this makes me a bad person, yeah?" And, well, he doesn't really need Harry to  _say_ the words to know that it's true. After all, if Louis weren't such a bad person to begin with, then maybe he'd deserve Harry.

Maybe he'd let himself be what Harry deserves.

Harry shakes his head vehemently though, nearly spilling his drink down the front of his shirt, "Louis. People need space, people need time. That doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a normal person."

"You don't need space or time," Louis grumbles sourly into his wine, huffing because this just isn't  _fair_. All he ever really wanted was to get through life as quickly as possible, with as little damage as possible, and then he'd gone and met Harry.

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if he weren't falling from that ten story building.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are _rules_ for dating and dates.

Louis knows this.

Harry knows this.

And it still doesn't make the moment any less uncomfortable.

Sighing, Louis leans his shoulder against the door to his flat, shaking his head and crossing his arms, "Had fun, Harry. Really."

"I'm supposed to kiss you now," Harry replies carefully, like he's worried there will be consequences for saying it out loud. It's clear he didn't hear a word Louis just said.

"Yes, that's usually how dates go," Louis sighs again, reaching out absently to tug on the collar of Harry's shirt until it's straightened out properly. He's a little bit past tipsy, stuck in a warm little bubble where his fears and his rules and his  _life_ can't reach him. If it weren't for Zayn putting his foot down, Louis would no doubt have long since become an alcoholic.

Harry's eyes brighten and he wavers a cautious step forward, posture still unsure, "It was a date?"

Louis doesn't let himself sway forward, much as he wants to, pressing back against the door, "Oh, bother off. I'm fairly certain you knew that when you asked me to dinner, twat."

"Did I?" Harry murmurs, eyebrows crinkling cutely and lips fumbling up into one of those crooked smiles that always did the trick of forcing the air out of Louis' lungs.

Now is no exception, either, and he finds himself having to fight for the right to breathe as he shakes his head, "No." He doesn't have to say anything else, didn't even really have to say that much. They've always been on the same page, and while it usually gets on Louis' nerves, now is one occasion that he doesn't mind not having to spell it out.

Something in his chest twists painfully as Harry's face falls, much as he tries to hide the droop in the corners of his lips and the brightness seeping out of his irises, "Right. Sorry. I should go."

Louis shakes his head again, reaches out and hooks two fingers around Harry's wrist, "Thank you for dinner. But we can't." He lets go, just like he did eight months ago. Just like he should've done the moment he realized just what would come of Harry Styles being in his life.

And, just like every time before, the knowledge that it's what he  _should_ do does nothing to ease the ache of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis wakes up to voices in the kitchen, a sure sign that he'll hear something interesting.

Zayn always did have a bad habit of gossiping without even realizing that Louis will most definitely overhear and tell  _everyone_. It's a bad habit that Louis is certainly in no hurry to break, relying on cheap gossip and even cheaper soap operas to keep his mind focused on any and everything but his own  _lack_ of a love life.

He's more than a little surprised when it's Harry he hears talking first, "Zayn, I just don't know what to  _do_."

As per usual, Zayn sounds as if he's either just rolled out of bed or just gotten in from smoking a fag. By the lingering wafts of cigarette smoke in the hall, Louis' guessing it's both and that he'd gone and lit up in his room again, "I've told you from the beginning that Lou won't make it easy for you. Just make sure you show him as much as possible that you care, y'know, 'cause he doesn't really let himself care about people much anymore. And, eventually, he'll come 'round. Always does. But you can't get upset with him, Harry, mate, for being this way. It'll only make it worse, really."

Louis blinks. Zayn's just recited a monologue about him. He  _must_ be dreaming.

But, no, not even his twisted brain would dream up Harry's soft admission of a response, "I thought...I thought that he loved me too. 's why I told him how I felt in the first place."

And, selfishly, Louis' first thought is,  _no, you can't know. No one can. It's my secret._ But somehow Harry's seen through all the refusals and the denial and the harsh exterior right down to the core of the matter; Louis already cares, and it's too late to lessen the blow or minimize the damage.

It's so hard for Louis to be strong because being in love makes him desperately weak.

He no longer has an interest in gossip, pushing himself up from the floor and slipping into the bathroom. Louis stares long and hard at his reflection, squinting and frowning and pushing his features into a million different expressions because he just doesn't  _understand_. Why does this have to happen to  _him_? Why does it have to be  _Louis_ that falls in love for the first time after  _everything_ with the one person in the entire world that can fall in love with him  _back_.

It just doesn't make any  _sense_.

"Your face's gonna get stuck like that," Harry says from the doorway, a sad smile on his face, his eyes fading and tired.

Louis releases his pinched hold on the skin between his eyebrows, noticing a bit belatedly that he forgot to shut the door, "You're lurking."

Harry scrunches his nose, smiling despite himself just like always when Louis says something that could possibly be teasing and could possibly be serious, "I was coming to use the loo. There's only one in this tiny flat, y'know?"

_"Apartment_ ," Louis corrects, though the venom in the word is lost with the upward tilt to his lips. It always is when he teases Harry.

"Sometimes I wonder what I ever liked about America," Harry begins softly, staring down at his feet like he does when he's too afraid to meet Louis' gaze, "but then I remember that you're here." And then he lifts his lashes and his eyes are bright and open and so,  _so_ sincere that Louis' heart fractures a little bit in his chest.

Louis crinkles his nose and sighs, staring back at his reflection as opposed to looking at Harry's quietly intense expression, "That's funny because you're the only good thing I remember about London." And that's one admission that he doesn't mind Harry knowing because it's  _true_ and because everything else in Louis' life when he was in London was total  _shit_. 

There's no point in denying it because Harry already knows it.

From the way his lips tip downward, Louis isn't sure Harry  _likes_ this fact though. Not, of course, until Harry says, "There's nothing funny about it, Lou. In fact, it's really more ~~\--~~ "

Louis cuts him off,  _knows_ what he's going to say, " _No_ , it isn't, Harry. It's a coincidence and it's funny and you said something about having to have a piss, so I'll leave you to it then."

But even as he runs away, the pounding of his heart whispers with each pulse against his ribs,  _fate_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis spends the next four days in his bed, wrapped up in several fleece blankets, not moving except for the occasional potty break. He's got some mix of One Republic, The Fray, Panic! at the Disco, and The Cab playing from the speakers in the corner, though he isn't really sure if it's even on anymore. He's vaguely aware that he needs a shower, his mouth is probably disgusting, and his stomach is growling like a mamma bear protecting its cubs. 

But it's all very vague.

"All this time I was waiting for you," he sighs quietly along with the lyrics to the song playing, his eyes feeling gritty and dry as he cracks them open.

Harry is standing in the doorway, Zayn nervously wringing his hands together behind him. Harry takes one look,  _one_ , and waves Zayn off, his graveling voice carrying over to the near comatose Louis, "I've got it, Zayn. No need to worry."

Louis lets his eyes droop shut again, heaving a sigh that catches in his chest for what feels like the millionth time, "Hi, Harry."

"Louis," Harry breathes out softly, coming over to hover just next to the bed, unsure of what he should do, "what have you done to yourself?"

"'m wallowing. In sorrow. Bit of pity, too, honestly. Did'ja know 'm not  _allowed_ to be in love?" Louis lets words bleed out however they wish, feeling like it's sort of like how his heart's bleeding inside his chest ~~\--~~ nothing he can do about either one, really, and they'll both be the death of him eventually.

Better to go down with words than in love, he thinks to himself.

Harry drops down to sit next to Louis, looking like he wants to curl his larger body around Louis' curled up and small one, "Says who?"

"Says  _God_ ," Louis sighs softly, letting his eyes droop closed again. He feels like the entire world's shifted and everything's crooked and _different_ now that his walls are gone and his efforts proved to be in vain. He tried so  _hard_ to make sure he kept those walls up, no matter how shaky they'd become. 

It only took  _one_ slip for everything to come tumbling down.

"Maybe..." Harry hesitates, drawing his legs up underneath him and settling against the headboard, "maybe it's okay..."

Louis doesn't wait for him to finish, his heart too constricted and his chest cavity too small, "Shut up, Harry. 'm not allowed to love, certainly not allowed to love  _you_ , no matter how much I do. So just shut up."

Harry ignores him, forging on carefully, voice shaky and questioning, "Maybe it's okay for you to love me...maybe because...because, well, because I love you. And it'd be okay. For you to love me back." His eyebrows are furrowed, lips tilted downward and pursed slightly. He looks just like he did that time Louis slapped him.

Louis sort of wants to slap  _himself_.

He peels his eyes open completely, blinking owlishly a ew times before frowning deeply, "No," his voice drags out slowly, words assembling with difficulty, "no, I don't think it'd be okay. Because you've got so much of it, so much love to give and so many people to give it to. And all 've got's you."

"All I  _want_ is you," Harry says, a little desperately, voice wavering with the sincerity in it. He's only said that once before, and it caused Louis to run away.

This time, all he can do is roll over and turn away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis sighs and wraps his arms tight around his legs. His damp fringe is hanging in his eyes, and he just doesn't have the strength to move it. Zayn forced him into the shower and is now forcing him to eat, nudging a plate of toast across the coffee table, voice soft and far too gentle, "C'mon, Lou. Three bites."

"I want to go back to bed," is all Louis replies, wishing he could squeeze himself into a ball so small that he just disappeared. 

Zayn makes a frustrated noise, shaking his head, " _No_ , Louis. You're going to eat the goddamned toast and you're going to get your shit together. I don't care if I have to forcefeed you, but you're going to eat the fucking toast."

Louis grins, just a little, the movement nearly excruciating with the knot wrapped tight around his ribcage and threaded through his spine, "I don't know why you even try to be nice to me."

"Neither do I," Zayn's face uncrinkles, shoulders relaxing now that his best friend is responding somewhat normally.

Louis may not be very strong, but he's a damn good actor.

So he sits up a little straighter and reaches for the plate, working words up through the hitch of pain in his throat and out through the buzzing in his head, "Can't believe you made me dinner, Z. Am I dying or summat?"

Zayn shakes his head fondly, "Shut up and eat your toast, twat."

And Louis does just that, eating his toast and bantering with Zayn like he doesn't have a care in the world. And while speaking and moving and  _breathing_ around the ache doesn't become any less painful, he becomes numb to it for at least a little while. He feels like maybe this isn't a  _better_ way to live exactly, but it's easier than forcing those walls up. It hurts a lot more, it's a bigger threat, will be so much easier to pull him under completely, but it's easier. 

And when Louis is at his weakest, he can't even pretend to be strong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is home alone, reading Twilight and listening to his favorite 2005 album of The Fray, when there's a knock on the door.

He knows it's Harry before he even opens the door, knows it like he knows his favorite color and the rhythm of his heart and the way the sun rises and sets every day. He knows it deep down in the pit of his stomach, knows it in the pulsing of his heart, knows it in the breath expelling from his lungs. 

Harry is a panting, trembling, dripping wet mess when Louis opens the door, teeth chattering and eyes bloodshot and puffy, "Hi." His voice croaks in a way that  _has_ to be painful.

Louis winces at the sound of it, opening the door a bit wider, "Come in, then." He goes to grab a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around Harry's shaking shoulders as the taller boy just stands in the hallway, arms wrapped around himself. Louis shuts the door and places a gentle hand on Harry's arm, "What's happened?"

"Was in the park. Started raining. Locked outta my flat," Harry says shortly, eyes on his feet and lip caught between his teeth. He's trying to stop his body from trembling, but he's too cold and too wet to really have much control over it.

Louis sighs and his heart gives a throbbing ache, giving Harry's arm a tug, "C'mon, you need to get in the shower and get out of those clothes. You're freezing."

Harry stays silent as they head to the bathroom and Louis turns on the hot water, and he stays right there as Louis scrambles through Zayn's clothes for something that'll fit him. Once he returns, he sets the clothes on the counter and gives Harry a soft look that he probably doesn't have a right to give him, "You can stay here, Harry. We'll call a locksmith in the morning and get you taken care of, yeah?"

"Why can't you just let me love you?" Harry asks, begs really, just as Louis is reaching for the door to leave.

His hand stills on the knob, his breath hesitates in his lungs, and his eyes squeeze shut. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to explain it all to Harry, "Take your shower before you freeze to death, Harry." He closes the door behind him and leans back against it, fisting his hands over his eyes. 

If there is one thing Louis never saw coming, it's Harry.

He squares his shoulders and heads for the kitchen, putting the kettle on and wringing his hands nervously. Things have felt different for the past week, but Louis was at least getting over being completely disabled by the anguish clamped tight around every inch of his body. Now that Harry's right in front of him again, now that everything he's become so good at suppressing is staring him in the face, he's feeling the desperation crawling up the back of his throat and weaving between the knobs of his spine.

Louis doesn't even really mind the feeling so much anymore, but he minds what will come of it. Because he's already broken, already let all his walls and inhibitions crumble. Which means that, really, the only thing that's stopping him from giving in is the fact that Harry hasn't pushed yet.

Louis has never been strong, but Harry has never really tested it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry is soft and damp and silent when he returns, Zayn's shirt stretched taut around his shoulders and flaring out just a little at his waist. There's an inch of smooth alabaster skin between the hem of the shirt and the elastic of his boxers, which are peeking out slightly from the black sweatpants he's too tall for. He stands in the middle of the room again, shifting from foot to foot and reminding Louis intensely of a kicked puppy.

Louis sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, hands over Harry's tea, "What were you doing in the park anyway?"

Harry only shakes his head, wrapping his fingers around the mug but making no move to drink it. His eyes are downcast, hair hanging forward to mask most of his face. 

Louis sort of aches to brush it back, and he's not strong at all anymore, so of course he does. He trails his fingers across Harry's cheekbone, voice gentle, "C'mon, Harry, talk to me. 'm sorry, okay? Sorry 'm such a shit person and sorry I can't be better for you."

A shudder ripples through Harry's entire body at the contact, but his eyes stay down and his lips stay pursed.

Huffing, Louis takes the mug back and sets it on the counter. He grabs Harry by the wrist and tugs him to the couch, sitting so that their arms are only just touching, "Fine. Don't talk to me. I don't care. Not at all."

"You want me to talk to you," and Harry's voice doesn't sound any less raw than it did when he first arrived, "but you don't want to hear what I have to say."

"I'm sorry," Louis whispers helplessly, curling his knees up tight to his chest. He's trying to hold all his pieces together, trying to make them  _fit_ and they just _don't_ and he's terrified of what's going to happen when he completely falls apart.

Surely Harry won't be there to catch all his mangled and disfigured pieces.

Another shudder rolls through Harry, having nothing to do with a chill anymore, "I don't want you to be sorry."

Louis shakes his head back and forth, both wanting to look up and dreading the moment he looks into Harry's eyes. He wisely keeps his gaze on his knees, mumbling into his leg, "Then what do you want me to be?"

"Mine."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis wakes up with gritty eyes and morning breath, his body curled around Harry's and his ever-present ache gone. It takes a few minutes for him to remember that this is allowed. That it's okay for them to touch, to get all tangled up like this, because Harry asked for it softly. Because  _Harry_ wants more, begs for more, and so it's okay if Louis wants some of that too.

At least for today.

Harry rolls a little and tugs Louis closer by the waist, nuzzling his cheek against the curve of Louis' neck, words slipping out on a sigh of contentment, "G'morning. If you're planning on asking me to leave again, at least give me five more minutes before you do."

"I won't," Louis whispers, eyes on the ceiling and heart pounding against his ribs, "I promise."

If Harry was content before, he's positively preening now, "Yeah?"

Louis nods, throat too thick to speak. He shuts his eyes and allows himself this moment to remember every curve, every breath, every way they slip together so seamlessly. It's selfish of him, but it's something he can't leave without.

Because while he won't ask Harry to leave, he certainly can't ask himself to stay.

"Does this mean I can kiss you?" Harry asks timidly, the soft smile evident in his tone.

"Yes," Louis whispers, hating himself for how much damage he's causing this time. At least he could end things last time before things became too much, before there were too many cracks in his framework and too many weak spots in his armour. But now it's too late, the bomb's set to detonate, and the shrapnel is going to leave scars.

Might as well at least make them worth it.

Their lips touch with hesitancy, but Louis doesn't have time to be hesitant. He curls his fingers around Harry's chin, slotting their lips together and letting the emotions roll through his body. It's a soft kind of kiss, the kind of kiss that's meant to be shared amidst glowing candles and the moonlight. The kind of kiss Louis certainly shouldn't be letting himself have. Least of all with Harry.

But he's going to  _earn_ his scars, dammit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's three in the morning, he's wearing Vans and no socks, and his hands are shaking.

Louis bites his lip as he paces the kitchen, waiting for his cab to arrive. His bag is at his feet, beanie pulled low over his forehead so that his fringe lays flat and brushing into his eyes. He feels like he's going to throw up. 

His phone vibrates in his hand, making him trip over his own two feet. It's the cab company. 

Time to go.

With fumbling fingers he writes out a note for Harry. A note that's too short and too awful and possibly the most painful thing he's ever done in his life.

But he does it anyway.

With a sigh and one tense moment of swallowing down everything he hates himself for, Louis picks up his bag and heads out the door, the words of his letter replaying over and over in his head.

_I'm keeping my promise._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things _suck_.

It's not that he's living with _Nick Grimshaw_. It's not that he's working at  _Starbucks_. It's not even that he doesn't have hot water or air conditioning. 

It's that he's _alone_. 

Harry calls him twelve times a day, sometimes double that. Zayn texts him fuck words every hour on the hour. And he keeps his phone turned off and shoved under his pillow on the crap couch he's taken residence on. It feels a bit like he's run away from home, which he did once when he was twelve. Only this time his mum won't be picking him up at the end of the block, this time he won't be going back. 

It aches and it hurts and it's near debilitating sometimes like when he first wakes up or when he's got a moment of silence, but it's what's got to be done. Harry deserves to be happy with someone, and Louis needs to accept that he can't ever be that.

So he ignores his crumbling heart and forges on.

It sucks and it hurts and it's bloody  _stupid_ , but he's run out of options. So he deals with Nick walking around at four in the morning and with freezing his ass off and with basically hating every single breathe that leaves his lungs. It's a hard thing to work his life around, but Louis has never been the suicide in silence type. He's the type of person that's going to keep putting his pain and his suffering off to the side until he can completely pretend it never existed at all.

Though he's not sure how well he can pretend that Harry never existed.

Harry is in the beat of his heart, in the curling of his breaths around his lungs, in the way his eyes flicker closed at moments, in the way that his whole body feels like it's missing. Harry is everywhere around him, all the time, yet he's impossibly far away.

Louis isn't sure how he ended up so hopelessly  _incomplete_ without the boy he's spent the better part of a year running away from. It just doesn't add up. But, no matter how little sense it makes, it's still achingly obvious in the way Louis' eyes are too dim and his smiles are too forced and it all just seems so incredibly  _wrong_.

But, well, that doesn't make them any less  _right_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks is a very long time to go without seeing the people Louis used to  _live_ with. 

So, really, he shouldn't be as surprised as he is when Liam appears at the end of his shift. Playing the usual role of calm and collected, Liam's hands are shoved casually into his pockets and his posture is easy, "Evenin', Lou."

Louis tries not to panic, lifting his eyes slowly from where he'd been wiping the countertop. He keeps his voice even, matching Liam's tone, "Hi, Liam. What can I get you?"

"A double shot of what the fuck is wrong with you?" Liam's calm tone doesn't waver, his shoulders loose. The only signs of anger are in the honey brown flecks in his eyes, which are glinting and flashing and sending up caution flags all over the place. If Liam's face is contorted into anything other than his default puppy dog expression, then Louis knows without a doubt that he's fucked.

Louis shakes his head once, looking around helplessly to find the shop nearly devoid of customers. "Shit, Li, whad'ya want me to say? 'm not sorry for leaving. Had to." It's a weak excuse, even by Louis' standards, but he knows that anything he tells Liam will be told to Zayn who will then tell it to Harry. Proceeding with caution is an understatement.

Liam frowns at him for at least two minutes before nodding slowly, once, "Alright, Lou. 's your life, so do what you want. Even if that means running away from the people that care the most about you. Even if that means Harry crying every night because you left. I can't make you stop being stupid and come back, but I can ask you nicely. So will you please come home?"

_Home_.

Louis is starting to think that's not actually not a place so much as it is the people in his life. He _doesn't_ let his heart stutter out warningly, doesn't let himself acknowledge the pain slipping through every fold and crease and curve, he  _doesn't_. Instead he runs his fingers through his fringe and forces his gaze to Liam's, "Don't tell Harry where I am. Don't let him find out. He can't know. It's better that he doesn't know." 

"Better for who? Because from where I'm standing, 's not doing any good for either of you." And Liam is just so  _sincere_ about it that there isn't even a chance of Louis doubting it or misreading it or even disagreeing with it. 

"Just don't," Louis begs softly, his eyes flitting away because he isn't a good enough person to look Liam in the eye as he says it. 

He isn't a good enough person for a lot of things, he's starting to realize.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Niall is Louis' first customer a few mornings later, snapback twisted backwards on his head and a smartass grin already on his lips as he whistles and looks up at the menu. Louis is in no mood to be sweet, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he says, "If you say one fucking  _word_  about Harry ~~\--~~ "

Niall shakes his head rather violently as he tuts, grin stretching, "Customer  _service_ , Lou. I don't care  _how_  much you wanna talk 'bout Harry, I ain't havin' it. Now get me three double cheeseburgers and a chocolate shake. Large chips, too." And he's such a little  _shit_ , but with that fucking smile and those ridiculously crooked teeth, Louis can't hold it against him.

But he  _can_  sneer just the tiniest bit and use his sassiest tone, "This is  _Starbucks_ , Niall. We don't  _have_  burgers and  _fries_ ~~\--~~ we're in bloody  _America_ , does no one remember that ~~\--~~ and milkshakes. I can, however, get you a hot chocolate with whipped cream."

"Make it a whipped cream with hot chocolate and you've got yourself a deal," Niall counters, as if this is some sort of haggling establishment. Louis wouldn't be all that surprised if he tried to talk down the price, too.

It's this moment, right here, that Louis  _breaks_.

Louis has never been strong, and missing his friends and his life and  _Harry_  is too much weight.

He looks up at Niall, eyes wide and lower lip trembling, fingers frozen on the cash register. He can't move, he can't  _breathe_ , all he can think is  _Harry, I'm in love with HarryHarryHarryHarry_. And it's not until Niall's leapt over the counter and is holding Louis up by his shoulders that he realizes he's trembling from head to toe, "Lou, breathe, mate. C'mon, in and out. Nice 'n slow."

Louis doesn't  _want_  to breathe, not with how blindingly and suddenly he's been  _hit_  with this. Despite everything, all the pushing and the fighting and the avoiding, he's fallen in so deep that he wonders how he didn't notice the fact that he was falling. "Ten story building," is all he can whisper, blinking again because for the first time since he's realized what it is he's feeling coursing through his blood, he  _wants_  someone to know.

Anyone will do, really.

And by anyone, it's obviously Harry. As if Louis could ever tell anyone else first. As if Louis could  _tell_  anyone else. 

Niall, bless him, doesn't question or hesitate or prod or do anything other than keep a hold of Louis' shoulders, eyes soft and sweet like only Niall can be, "'s alright, Lou. I got ya."

No, Louis realizes, only one person has him. And it's not Niall.

It's Harry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pride is a very,  _very_ stupid thing.

Louis knows this, but it doesn't stop  _his_ pride from keeping him holed up in Niall's apartment for the better part of three days. He sleeps on the couch on the few occasions that he sleeps, stares blanky at the telly even though it's not turned on for most of the mornings, and spends the rest of his time crying and breathing harshly.

Niall has every right to call Zayn.

That doesn't make Louis feel any better though. Especially when the first thing Zayn does is slap him upside the head. Though the second thing, which is to wrap Louis in a hug so tight that he can almost pretend he isn't falling apart, sort of makes up for it. It's ruined, though, when Zayn opens his mouth, "You little  _fuck_. Don't do that to me again, idiot. Now what the  _fuck_  is your problem?"

"Where's Harry?" Louis asks softly, voice muffled in the fabric of Zayn's shirt. It's the only reason he lets the words slip, the only reason they're allowed to pass through his lips. It's a soft, barely-there question that he can deny ever having asked if necessary. It's the type of admission Louis only allows himself around Zayn.

Zayn sighs deeply enough that Louis can feel the expansion and collapse of his lungs as he does so, "I told 'im to wait in the car. Wasn't sure if you wanted..."

"I do," Louis begs softly, startling himself with how easily he can admit to it. It really shouldn't be this easy to be okay with it, but Louis supposes that's just how it works when he's doing the  _wrong_ thing.

But it's a bit unnecessary for Louis to even have to ask for Harry because he's suddenly standing in the doorway, lips chewed raw and hands shaking at his sides. "Where the  _hell_ is he?" His voice his hoarse and rough and so,  _so_ broken sounding that Louis' throat closes up.

He only then realizes Zayn's been blocking him from view. It's probably not an accident. Louis shoves Zayn out of the way, stumbling to his feet and wiping the back of his hand across his face just to be sure there aren't any tears there. He opens his mouth, maybe just to whisper Harry's name, maybe to cry again, he isn't really sure.

But Harry's already bolting forward, shoving Louis so hard that he stumbles back a few steps, "You son of a  _bitch_."

Louis regains his footing before he can topple over the coffee table, voice probably too soft for how angry Harry is, "Hi, Harry."  _HarryHarryHarry_. It just feels so _nice_ , even though Harry's livid and might possibly swing at him, it still feels better than he has in nearly a month. Hell, it feels better than he has in  _nine_ months. 

Jerking Louis forward by a fistful of his shirt, Harry glares down at the smaller boy and  _lifts him off his feet_ , "I swear to  _God_ , if you  _ever_ pull that shit again ~~\--~~ "

Louis doesn't even really care that he's getting chewed out, he just wraps his arms around Harry's waist and sighs at the feeling of it. His whole body shudders at the way they fit so seamlessly together, at the way this feels so  _right_.

Harry sort of curls around him, clutching just as tightly and relaxing just as suddenly. His next words are nearly lost in Louis' bird's nest of fringe, "I love you."

He shuts his eyes tight and his grip loosens almost on reflex. Louis' mind screams at him to run, just like always. But, unlike every other time before, he doesn't  _listen_. "I love you back," Louis whispers carefully, tensing up as if he expects the sky to fall or the floor to drop out from under his feet. When neither happen, he takes a risk and looks up at Harry.

Harry kisses him, right on the mouth with Zayn and Niall both staring at them. Harry kisses him, both hands holding his face as if Harry's scared Louis will slip away. Harry kisses him and whispers into his mouth, "Oh my  _God_."

And suddenly Louis doesn't give a  _damn_ how wrong this might be. All he cares about is Harry looking at him like he's the greatest thing since government cheese. "Sorry it took me so long t'say it," Louis says, slightly embarrassed as his eyebrows furrow.

"It was never about you saying it back," Harry's grinning too widely for Louis to really believe that, "I just wanted you to let  _me_ love  _you_."

Louis grins softly at that, unable to help it really, "Well, I think I'd be fairly disappointed if you didn't."

"Trust me, I do."

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope it's not shit  
> xx


End file.
